


Prisoner or Guest? (Reylo)

by i_am_obsessed



Series: Utter Confliction [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Come On Just Kiss Already, Conflicted Kylo Ren, F/M, First Order Politics (Star Wars), Kidnapping, POV Rey (Star Wars), Rey Needs A Hug, Reylo - Freeform, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, did kylo kidnap rey?, join me (for dinner), maybe someday they'll kiss, not smut, rey in the shower, reylo almost kiss, reylo trash, the first order loves excess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_obsessed/pseuds/i_am_obsessed
Summary: Mmm hmm, that's right. Kylo took Rey back to his ship. And invited her to dinner after just kidnapping her and extracting a blood sample.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Utter Confliction [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579966
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Prisoner or Guest? (Reylo)

You don’t mean that…

Deserter…

A rush of the Force…

Trembling breath caressing my face…

Lips brushing mine…

You don’t mean that…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

The Force begins coursing through my veins, dragging me from the darkness. I keep my eyes shut tight, willing myself to go back to sleep. It’s so comfortable and warm, here where I lay, and I don’t want to have to get up and face Corellia for the third day in a row.

But you’re not on Corellia anymore, are you? A deep voice says in my mind.

I shoot straight up, instantly getting a head rush.  
Through the dizziness, I see him. Of course he’s there.

Kylo Ren sits draped over a chair across from the bed I’m mysteriously in, studying me with stormy eyes. How long has he been watching me? 

“I was meditating.” He responds to the thought out loud.

“Like hell you were,” I spit. The thought of him watching me sleep instantly angers me, but I take a deep breath in. I have to control myself, especially after—I internally gasp, remembering what happened between us the last time I was awake in his presence. Trembling breath caressing my face…lips brushing mine… 

His face twitches and his body goes stiff. I feel hurt radiating off of him like a physical heat; it bothers me to see him like this. He’s always angry, constantly defensive, forever steeped in darkness. But today he’s wounded. And that hurts me, because it’s my fault.  
Looking down, I discover I’m still in yesterday’s clothes, so I slide out of the bed. I expect my feet to touch the ground, but the bed is so high up that when I drop off the side, I stumble forward. Humiliating. 

In throwing my hands out to break my fall, I realize I’m wearing wrist binders. 

“Am I a prisoner or a guest?” I ask as I lift my eyes to meet his gaze. My lightsaber sits on a nightstand next to the bed, easily within reach even in binders.  
He raises an eyebrow (making my stomach twist around unexplainably) and my wrist binders fall to the floor with a clatter. I turn to the lightsaber to fasten it to my belt, but have to snatch my hand back as it zooms into his grasp. Suddenly, a syringe rushes towards me from a hatch in the wall and sticks into my arm. I gasp a little, not at the pain—I’ve felt much worse—but rather, from the shock. I feel a ripple of emotion in our bond from him at my gasp.  
The syringe extracts a bit of blood, then retracts into the wall. A second later, a bored-sounding robotic voice sounds from the walls: “DNA received. Security systems primed.” 

“Somewhere in the middle,” he says, a cold smile raising half of his mouth.  
Kylo abruptly turns and heads for the door, pausing only to tell me that I’ll be expected for dinner at 20:00 and to press a button on the wall (which he indicates to) when I want to exit the room. 

Dinner? With him?

As he stalks off (with a dramatic whoosh of his cape), I wander around the room, rubbing my wrists and stretching my stiff joints as I go. How long have I been out?  
The room is all his signature monochromatic—white geometric walls with bright lights shining through; black furnishings with hard edges and silver fixtures; a million charcoal pillows piled on an equally ebony bed. The only thing in the room with any color is my release button, which is red.  
A door next to the bed is ajar to reveal what looks like a washroom. I walk over to the door and push it open to find an extravagant lavatory, all pristine white marble and floor to ceiling mirrors. A massive shower with a confusing amount of controls takes up the far left corner, and a vanity with endless bottles crowding the countertop sits against the right wall. There’s a two-meter-wide sink, a toilet, a small sofa, and something that looks like an IT-O Interrogator Device that hovers next to the shower. 

It seems the First Order loves excess. 

I glance down at my clothes, my hands, run my fingers through my hair—I’m filthy. Not that I’m trying to impress Kylo, but I certainly don't want to “join him for dinner” as is. I’m sure he’s planning exactly which black ensemble he’ll wear to dinner right now.  
It strikes me that every visible pice of clothing he wears is black. I wonder if his—undergarments—match as well…

NO! I internally scream. DO NOT THINK ABOUT THE SUPREME LEADER’S UNDERGARMENTS!

Holy Stars, I think, he’ll have heard that. 

Before I can think any more and embarrass myself further, I strip my grimy clothes off and step into the shower. That’s when it hits me that there are probably two hundred knobs and buttons. How am I supposed to work this?  
Just then, the floating device next to the shower flies in next to me. Fear twists my stomach—are they really going to torture me? Naked?—but small monitor illuminates in the front and a metallic voice comes out. “I am TZ-7, your bathing attendant. Hot or cold?”  
“Excuse me?” I ask, confused. I’ve never heard of a bathing attendant droid before. I’ve never even heard of a water resistant droid.  
“Hot or cold?” it repeats, sounding annoyed.  
“Uh— just warm, please,” I request. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, a small black arm shoots out of his side, hits two buttons, and turns a dial.  
A stream of water cascades down over my body. Is it possible for water to be soft? This feels like warm silk running down, down, down my shoulders, my back, my legs. Somehow, it’s the perfect temperature.  
“Water pressure okay?” TZ-7 asks politely. I open my mouth to say yes, but accidentally swallow a mouthful of water. And I swear to the Force, it tastes like Zaela tree buds—a delicacy imported from Naboo with a mouthwateringly sweet flavor. It would cost nine whole credits and a half portion on Jakku.  
I swallow another bit of water and nod at the droid.  
“Scented cleanser?”  
I cock an eyebrow. Some First Order indulgence, I’m sure. “Surprise me,” I tell him.  
“Close your eyes and mouth,” TZ-7 instructs. “This is not to be ingested by any human.” I prepare myself; however, the water stops. I open one eye—maybe the system’s broken—but just as I do, a hundred jets of bright green something squirt out of the walls of the shower, all over my body and DIRECTLY INTO MY EYE.  
I shut my eye, but it’s too late. A fiery burn is spreading through my eyeball, acidic and torturous and nearly unbearable. Hopping around one foot, I wave my arm around to find TZ, to hit a button, to do SOMETHING to stop the pain, but instead I slash my hand on something that I can feel breaks skin.  
“SHUT OFF THE CLEANSER!” I yell.  
“I’m afraid you have to finish the rinsing cycle before the shower can be shut—“  
“RINSE PLEASE. PLEASE RINSE THIS OFF OF ME.”  
“Is the scent unsatisfactory? I can change—“  
“IT ISN’T THE SCENT. I JUST WANT TO BE RINSED RIGHT NOW.” The pain is not easing. I never had soap on Jakku, and it’s pretty scarce in the Resistance, so never before have I felt this kind of chemical in my eyes.  
“Okay. Rising systems, enage.”  
The jets stop. The water rushes again over my body, over my hair and the eye that’s still on fire. It caresses my bruises and sore limbs, and I try to focus on that sensation. Though my eye hurts like hell, I’ve never had a shower life this before. Ever. It’s pure heaven. I don’t know what I expected from the First Order showers, but certainly not this kind of luxury.  
Once my body is rid of all traces of soap, I open my eye. TZ is now hovering over me. Before I can ask for a cloth, a sudden gust of air blows over me, whipping my hair about and sending a shiver down my spine. “Drying is complete,” he tells me.  
I step out of the shower, marveling at the pure waste of energy it took to do what I could have easily done with a dry cloth. As my eyes travel around the room, I discover a small clock sitting on the counter of the vanity. It reads 19:47.  
Dinner is at 20:00, his voice rings in my mind. 

Oh, no.

Ignoring the multitude of brushes and combs on the counter, I run my fingers haphazardly through my hair, trying to undo the knots and smooth the surface enough to be pulled back. As I do that, I look around for my clothes.  
Where are they? I swear I left them in a heap next to the shower—  
But they’re not there. A black pile of fabric lies in their place.  
Anger crashes into the pit of my stomach. There is no way my clothes are gone, and there is CERTAINLY no way I am wearing black First Order regalia to a dinner with the Supreme Leader. 

Breathe, says a voice in my head belonging to no one in particular. I recall Master Luke’s words: “Anger is a dangerous path, leading only to the Dark. Breathe. Control your feelings.”

I breathe. I control my feelings. 

But where are my damned clothes?!

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while, sorry! thank you for reading! sorry, I hate these in between chapters. I wish they would just make put already, but I don't make the rules. well, actually, I do, but you understand why I can't do that, right?  
> please leave a comment or two. share with your ibf's and cool uncles!


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